#westerlands.

♛   ADELAYNE HILL

↳ details; Female, 20, b. 485 AC ↳ status; Heretosexual, unmarried, childless. ↳ faceclaim; Gabriella Wilde ↳ hails from; Casterly Rock, Westerlands ↳ loyalty; House Lannister

↳ position; handmaiden to queen rhaena lannister ↳ religion; Faith of The Seven ↳ spoken languages; Common Tongue ↳ reason for being in sunspear; has accompanied Queen Rhaena Lannister as her handmaid and hopes to continue to search for a way to get to know the rest of her family.

♛   PERSONALITY

↳ type; ENFJ ↳ alignment; Lawful Good. ↳ star sign; Cancer ↳ positives; Curious, warm-hearted, committed, obedient, talkative ↳ negatives; naive, impulsive, secretive, paranoid, unpolished 

♛  BIOGRAPHY

↳ family lineage.

Adelayne was born at the cusp of a long, plentiful summer. She was conceived in secret, the  child of some polished lord and mystery midwife within the walls of Casterly Rock. Her mother’s cries could be heard throughout the cavernous walls of the castle, their echoes evident that she would not survive her time on the birthing bed. Mere hours after her bastard child was born, she closed her eyes just as Adelayne opened her own. Yet Adelayne would not grow up in the halls of the castle itself, as her mother had been promised. Instead, she was whisked away in the night — delivered into the waiting arms of a septa.

The speta was one of many who ran a home for orphans and foundlings in the shadow of the Rock nor far from Lannisport. With their guidance, she had a rather simple childhood. It was there that Adelayne would receive something of an education, and live until she reached the age of twenty. While simple for those of her rank, her early years were still something a bit wild, constantly stealing away with the other children to chase each other through The Westerlands’ capitol. They would sun themselves on the docks of Lannisport, and as the sun sunk below the water to bathe the world in hues of orange and pink, they would leap off the low cliffs of the Rock with noble ( including her dearest friend, Miranda Clegane) and low born children alike. But as she grew older, the Septas began to reign them in. Soon enough, their days of play were behind them. Adelayne would spend her mornings studying the Holy books, her afternoons cooking — though she’d never been any good at it — and cleaning for the other orphans. The septas had always been kind to them — but  though kind, they were always stern and quick to discipline. They claimed to do the Mother’s work, caring for children who had no families to call their own. It was their duty to prepare them to go out into the world. Most of her childhood friends would begin to enter that world as they reached their teenage years, to seek glory, wealth, or work. Yet Adelayne — though desperate to join them — could find no reason good enough to walk out of the only home she’d ever known. Instead, she accepted that she would live with the septas the rest of her days. The septas and their septor seemed pleased with the idea, and soon enough reading the Holy books began to take up larger and larger chunks of her once playful days.

Adelayne would join them, and commit her life to the Seven. For it was they who had been her family when she had none. She would follow the ways of healing, one day conceal her hair, and perhaps tutor a lord or lady in the ways of court. Yet, everyday, the girl with sunshine in her hair and two drops of cloudless sky in her eyes prayed for a sign. A sign that might lift her from her simple life, and sweep her away into something so much more.

But despite her prayers, soon the once playful child became an obedient young woman, through her curiosity and joyful nature would always rest just underneath her pious exterior. At times, she would still find herself dipping her toes into the ocean at sunset, gazing up at the Rock she’d grown up below. It was at those times that her mind would wonder. Thinking of her family — not the septas, not the septor — that might still be out there. Might miss her, or wonder where she was, or even regret giving her up. She would sit and wonder why she had two names rather than one, and why she was even called the bastard name Hill when the septas refused to tell her what lord was responsible for it.

It was these thoughts that swirled in her mind as she neared her 20th name day, and when the death of Lord Tristifer Lannister reached her ears — in a way she had not expected. Circling her way back to the girls’ quarters after a midnight prayer, Adelayne passed a tightly closed door, halting when she heard whispers seeping through the aged wood. As she found the hole in the stone to peer through, her life would forever change.

Poor girl, the septor was saying with a click of his tongue. The septa in the room heaved a heavy sigh, candlelight licking shadows over her aged face.  It does not matter now, I suppose. Adelayne will be one of us — she does not need to know. Not to do her duties here. What they meant, Adelayne didn’t understand. What did she not need to know? What were they hiding? Hours later when the conversation finally quieted, She pushed into the room and found a fresh scroll open on the desk. The scroll that gave the truth of her birth. She was the daughter of the late Lord of Casterly Rock — and the septas who had raised her had kept it from her for her entire life… by his orders. He funded the foundling home, made sure it was protected — and would continue to do so in death, so long as his daughter was safe. But Adelayne didn’t feel safe, surrounded by so many lies. After years of praying, she knew in her bones that that was the sign she’d been praying to appear.

Never in her life had Adelayne broken the rules. She was the picture of perfection — obedient, and careful. But not that night, when she snuck into the septa’s chamber and frantically read the scrawling black ink that revealed her to be the last born child of Tristifer Lannister. Without so much as a second though, she stuffed the scroll into her pocket and collected meager belongings and prepared to make her way for King’s Landing, where her brother — she had a brother — sat on the Throne, where her family now ruled. It would be a month before she finally made it to the capitol, a week later before she found work within the Red Keep’s kitchens. There, she found herself waiting to find the right moment. But how can she — a septa in training turned kitchen wench — get a moment alone with a King?

Yet, the surprise of meeting her family came far quicker than she expected. Having found work in the kitchens, Adelayne had been under the impression she would never be able to do anything more than watch them from afar. To her shock and delight, she and the queen crossed paths within the kitchens on a late night when both of them should have been long asleep. Shortly after, the bastard girl quite literally found herself face to face with her eldest brother, helping watch over her nephew when his wet nurse needed to step away.  The meeting was not what she had expected, but all the same — her sister in law had become a close confidant, and her brother Arryk at least had seen her face, despite the fact that the secret of her birth remained her own.

Adelayne quickly found her life changing from humble and quiet to exciting — and, at times, frightening. Shortly after unofficially meeting her brother and his wife, disarray began to sweep through the streets of the capitol with the arrival of the Dothraki Horde, and when the riots broke out during one of her errands for the Keep’s kitchens, Adelayne had no choice but to duck into a tavern known as the Broken Axe. To her horror, she was wrenched backwards by a slimy lowborn — a man quite literally called the Rat — who intended to take advantage of her with the riots as a distraction. She was sure her life would soon come to and end, yet a stranger came to her aid, later identified as the king’s master blacksmith.

This blacksmith, too, quickly became a friend that Adelayne found herself relying on more and more. Both bastards from high born families — yet the truth of her own noble parent still kept to herself — Adelayne found herself comfortable around Morrec Clegane despite his crude humor and lack of manners. The blacksmith proposed she accompany him to the Tyrell Harvest Ball instead of working the event, and to this day she considers the ball one of the most wonderful nights of her life, between eating sweets under tables and dancing the night away with her fellow bastard. The night led Adelayne to realize she might think of the blacksmith as more than just a dear friend, especially after he once more came to her aid after more unrest led to the burning of a Flea Bottom bakery, where Adelayne was quite literally caught in the crossfire.

During the kidnappings that lead to the splitting of the Seven Kingdoms, Adelayne was met with a mixture of horror and resentment that she managed to keep mostly hidden away. Those taken she wished out of harm’s way and back into safety, yet, at the same time, she found herself plagued with worry. What would become of her brothers and sister should the kingdoms never reunite? Of Rhaena and Aemos?  Even with the tournament and it’s intent to bring ease to the masses, Adelayne found herself resentful of the fact that there was nothing she could do. Angry and upset that her father’s acts of not allowing her to grow up with her family had resulted in her being unknown to them, and keeping her in the foundling home had left her naive and blind to the world around her. This anger — and a little too much wine — lead her to do the wrong thing for the second time in her life. Adelayne accidentally revealed her secret to Morrec, and though she trusts him wholeheartedly, still worries there will be consequences of her impulsive actions. With Morrec departing for Pentos shortly after, Adelayne found her worry growing, but as she grew closer to Rhaena, she found her life settling into a comfortable routine in the wake of all the chaos. With the queen suddenly becoming bedridden, Ade was able to convince he Keep’s cook to allow her to bring the queen her meals personally. Bringing food quickly turned to simply keeping her company as she healed, and when one of Rhaena’s handmaidens was married, she personally offered the position to Adelayne. She still can’t thank the Seven enough — and the Summit in Sunspear bings the promise of new opportunities. Still new to the idea of being a handmaiden even four months later, Adelayne has made a vow to herself to do everything in her power to prove herself useful to her sister-in-law so that she may remain in her service.

↳ personality.

Adelayne has always had a tender heart, helping those in need whenever she can. She found that the Faith of the Seven was likely the best place for her, as she had no family to call her own. She often can be found daydreaming about the life she’s always wanted, or giddily chattering about the brilliant clothing and hair the ladies of the capitol don. She is naive in politics and the ways of the court, and was raised relatively sheltered by the septas. She tries her best to uphold their teachings, but now that she is out in a world she never though she would experience, she is often marveling at things she shouldn’t and talking to people that she is far beneath.  She is determined to do her best in her new place of employment, and one day swallow her fear and march up to Arryk Lannister and proclaim who she is. But she is worried that such a secret she holds might come to haunt her — what if there was a different and dangerous reason her father didn’t want to reveal her? It has left her anxious, despite her re-claimed playful and joyous personality.

↳ the splitting of the kingdoms.

The Lannister bastard doesn’t know much about politics, nor the strange reasons her family now claim the Iron Throne. She simply is excited to finally have taken the grand step to escape her simple life, and perhaps one day find a way to reveal the truth of her parentage. The qualms of the high houses of Westeros are lost on her, as she spent most of her time studying religion rather than history. Yet, the separation of the Kingdoms has left her upset and anxious, as she knows how diligent her brother and sister-in-law were in attempting to keep them together under a single monarchy. She worries about the safety of her nephew and the entirety of her family, and hopes that their travels to Dorne prove fruitful in drawing the divided kingdoms back together under one throne. She had watched from afar as Arryk has given his heart and soul to his title, and prays everyday that her family not only survives the turmoil spreading through the Seven Kingdoms, but thrives.

♛   ELLAVIDA WATERS

↳ details; female, 22. (born 484AC) ↳ status; bisexual, unmarried, no children ↳ faceclaim; anya chalotra ↳ hails from; driftmark then casterly rock ↳ loyalty; herself

↳ position; herbalist, apothecary in training, bastard ↳ religion; questioning ↳ spoken languages; common tongue ↳ reason for being in sunspear; searching for work/employment

♛   PERSONALITY

↳ type; ENTJ ↳ alignment; chaotic good ↳ star sign; aries ↳ positives; courageous, determined, confident, thorough, eye for detail, quick witted, opportunistic ↳ negatives; impatient, moody, can be short-tempered, somewhat impulsive, aggressive

♛  BIOGRAPHY

↳ family lineage.

the second son of house velaryon, lord aelyxander, was known for being a womanizer as a young man, and it continued into his marriage. he settled down with a noble woman also from a crownlands house, not a love match but a respectable one made for him by his father, he thought no problem of openly going outside his marital bed.  yes, he had his true born children as was expected and but his wife always knew that lord aelyxander frequented the brothels and had many mistresses throughout his life. it was likely he had many bastards but, with dark hair determinedly dominant and the purple eyes of old valyria so recessive in their hereditary qualities despite the vibrant violet of lord aelyxander own eyes, blood-ties to the whorish lord was a hard thing to prove. before the first true born child had come, a bastard boy was born with the same eyes as his lord father and he was killed in the cradle to ensure no illegitimate heirs. the ones after that, though only one or two more boys (documented) were born with the tell-tale lavender eyes, were sent away to the wall where they would be far enough away as to not bring any threat to the true born heirs. there was only ever a record made of one daughter of lord aelyxander who was born with those hues, and her mother named her ellavida.

ellavida, or vida, wasn’t old enough to hold her head upright when she was identified by the lady velaryon’s many spies by the hue of her gaze. she was allowed to nurse at her mothers breast and stay with the lowborn woman and her half siblings until vida’s third birthday. then, at the order of lady velaryon, she was pulled screaming from her home and shipped to an orphanage, a foundling home, located in the westerlands. lady velaryon didn’t particularly care where the girl was sent, as long as it was out of the crownlands. as the youngest and a female, vida wasn’t a threat to the true born children but her mere presence infuriated lady velaryon and whilst lord aelyxander forbade the murder of any more of his bastards, he was happy enough to have them sent off to any corner of westeros. not far removed from the westerlands capitol of casterly rock, the home of the lannister family, was an orphanage that vida would call ‘home’ for the next twelve years of her life. not all those in the westerlands, she grew to learn, had the yellow hair of their ruling family, but those with black hair. blacker than the blackest night, like vida, were not common. coupled with her lavender eyes, the forcibly-made orphan (though she would not learn the true fate of her mother until after leaving the foundling home), stuck out like weed amongst the flowers. amongst the blond, sand, pale wood coloured heads of the varied girls and boys that found themselves in the orphanage, vida did make a friend. and the little ball of sunshine known as adelayne was near enough to the opposite in appearance of ellavida with her pale hair and light eyes.

just shy of two years younger than vida, they were thick as thieves as children: they and their other rag-tag group of friends that were a mix of children from the home, lowborns, bastards and orphans.  after all what noble would allow their child to play with the urchins of the street?  that didn’t bother her so much, vida never particularly cared about names and titles, and as a young girl she hardly  cared. time passed and years went on, carrying vida into a lanky, skinny, knob-kneed adolescent who had been taken in by a family who ran the local herb stalls and who’s father was the apothecary for the common folk surrounding the westerlands capitol. many of the children of the foundling home found work in  similar ways; taken in as charges families who ran business and needed extra hands, or sometimes they were employed in the ancestral home of the lannisters, like adelayne. motherless, fatherless, nameless, title-less children all usually found a place that was better than nothing at all.  for vida, her master (as she had been told to call him) was a cold and cruel one. he had unreasonably high standards, high expectations for the young girl who knew nothing of herbs, medicine, healing salves or even how to read the written word. she learned at the end of his cane, which he often used to whack her across the back and thighs as punishment so it was near impossible for her to sit or sleep anywhere comfortably. it was a hard life in many ways and save for  the fact that she observed the way her master treated his wife and own children, she may never have know that it was unjust. the apothecary, while a relentless task-master and a judgemental hand that he was no shy of laying on vida when he was angered by her, did teach her some rather valuable things. what herbs to use to help pain, sleep, induce a mothers labour, which ones would help to clot and heal a wound. she learned to read, quickly, as she was withheld food as a bribe for her to not fail, the apothecary did not want a stupid worker who could not read labels and recipes of the medicines he sold. for many years it was a lonely, cold and compassionless environment with the only light coming from the rare times she was able to sneak away and meet with her old friends. infrequent occasions after she reached her mid-teen years, as she was caught once and lashed with a whip for disobeying.

as vida was never allowed in the family home she slept in a run-down, hole-riddled wooden structure akin to a lean-to, she had been tasked with building for herself when she arrived as a preteen.  if you want a roof, make one, she had been told harshly as she was pushed to the pile of roughly hewn wood and broken branches, and though it collapsed one windy autumn and the rain sometimes trickled in it was sturdy enough. she grew quite adept at fixing up her make-shift house with sticks and woven reeds and the occasional slab of bark, and over time she also repurposed the hand-me-down rags given to her as clothing into a threadbare pillow and blankets. leaning against the workshop of her master, it wasn’t much but it was home and it was a sanctuary from the criticism, insults or sometimes stony silence she received from the apothecary.  she’d long since realized that he had barred his own daughters from speaking with the dark-haired throwaway child, and never looked there for support. as far as vida was aware, they had all been forbidden to even speak to her unless it was to give an order and the only physical interaction she had ever had with the apothecary’s wife was when young vida had tripped up on her dress and smashed a mortar and pestle on the stones; his wife favoured a long reed as a punishing tool and it had split the skin on her back. the abuse wasn’t constant and for their own enjoyment, she could tell that much, and they also never allowed her wounds to become infected, but she also always knew that the apothecary, her master, clung rigidly to his heaven-high standards and punished with an iron fist.

vida was tasked one night with scrubbing out the apothecary’s workshop; a bi-monthly task, which was aa medium-sized structure paved with heavy bluestone to keep the temperature cool inside, thick oak walls and a thatched roof. it smelled heavily of herbs and roots, incense, fermented fruits, fragrant oils, charcoal and purified spirits, it was a harsh smell however she was so very used to it that the scent no longer made her nostrils tingle. by her account, it was close to her twentieth name day (or the day she had chosen as her name day as the years slipped by), when the apothecary’s most loyal patron came calling as vida scrubbed the stones. after telling him that her master had closed early so she could clean as she had been instructed, he made the foolish decision to try and lay his hands on vida. his attempt was clumsy, the man triple her own age with grey hair, and she saw it coming before he even entered her personal space. vida had definitely grown quite sensitive to intrusive persons in her years under the heavy hand of the apothecary. there was barely a struggle, barely a confrontation, ultimately it was a strong shove from the bastard-born young girl that sent him toppling to his death on the cold, unforgiving stone. she was in shock initially, standing over the body shaking in cold sweats as she contemplated the various ways she was sure she would be punished for the accidental death. it was likely that she would be tossed to the streets, given to the authorities and thrown in the lannister’s jail… the grey lion of the west, tristifer lannister, was said to be ruthless in his apprehension of criminals, murderers. she was most likely to be hung or drawn on the rack until her body gave out, and vida was not ready to die. knowing the apothecary would not be returning until the next morning, she did what she knew best to do: survive. she could hear the soft whinnying horse outside, she lead it around the back of the workshop so no one would come looking for the steeds now dead rider. it was late afternoon when she slipped into her hut and packed a dress and three faded, broken and leather-strap tied books where she had written out the hundreds recipes and methods the apothecary had demanded she learn by heart, and a long length of fabric that she sometimes used as a shawl into a hemp satchel and returned to the workshop with the doors closed. usually it would take her all night, until the hours of dawn, to clean the whole workshop to the apothecary’s standards. vida gathered every valuable specimen of herbs and roots, samples of animals hair and hide, various ground powders of stone and clay, bone and mineral stones. vida also tucked away a small mortar and pestle as well as a book of poisons, death potions and sleeping draughts that she had been instructed never to read or touch (which she of course had years earlier).

it took very little for her to coax in one of the older pigs inside as dusk settled, but she killed it quickly then allowed the blood to flow despite the regret at having to hurt the animal. vida found every jar or cup or jug of anything she knew would burn fast and hot and smashed them against the walls and tables, even some parts of the thatched roof if her reach was good enough. looting the body of the dead man caused vida to lose her stomach quite violently, but she knew she needed money and at least thicker cloak to keep her warm at night. the sun had set by the time she had done all this, and the fires were dimmed in the apothecary’s home leaving everything quiet. the backed bag was lashed to the saddle of the dead mans horse, the cloak with the bloodied edge torn off was fastened about her thin shoulders with the shawl wrapped around her head, hair and shoulders. she was a ghost, she was a shadow with only a pale face and hands showing. she struck a flint to light the sole candle she was given each moon by her master to find her way at night in the early hours of the morning before the sun. the first fire was started in the dry wood and fabric bed of her hut: a few tears slipped from her eyes as she was forced to set alight her own home that she had painstakingly slaved over and maintained almost lovingly for years. the horse smelled the wisps of smoke on the air and whinnied again, digging in his hoofs into the ground restlessly and despite the tears down her pale cheeks, she grabbed the burning piece of fabric from the packed-earth floor and tossed it into the workshop. it took moments for the hungry fire to find accelerants and then the fire seemed to jump around the room quicker and quicker. in the light of the fire she could see the body of the dead man, the shape of the pig she had killed, and she simply closed her tear-filled, cursed, violet eyes as she pulled the door closed on the budding inferno and walked away.

by the time the smoke and flame roused the apothecary and his family, and the surrounding farmers and families, she had ridden deep into the north of the westerlands and when the fire finally was quashed the hunks of charred flesh we determined to be the wealthy patron and the apothecary’s dark-haired assistant. the horse? run off into the woods after being scared by the blaze, and the cause? the stupid bastard girl, obviously. overnight, as far as the common folk surrounding casterly rock were concerned, ellavida waters had gone up in a puff of smoke and eaten by fire. she was quickly forgotten. for two days she rode nearly due north, before finding a spot to camp safely and allow her new steed to rest. she named the grey horse adrestia, found water and food for the steed and herself, and then cried herself to sleep that night. her travels took her into the riverlands, where she found work with herbalists, septas, wealthier common folk of the tully region and her life became much less complicated, and much less cruel. the next months of her life were spent pouring over the books she had taken with her, perfecting and tweaking recipes to be more effective. vida’s healing salve brought her a steady clientele, work was not hard to find for someone with such knowledge and no one in the riverlands questioned or offered a second look to a simple healer with a bastard name, lavender eyes or no.

vida knew she could not sit idle in the riverlands once they turned against the iron throne. she knew what happened to young women in war, and even if she was spared that kind of brutality, she was also a herbalist with known skill. vida did not want to find herself a healer on a battlefield soaked in blood, indentured to some new king in a pointless war because she simply resided in the wrong spot. she would not, could not, go to the crownlands with the eyes of old valyria still shining bright in her face, the same could be said for the westerlands as it would not do for a dead girl to come back to life. the iron islands was not somewhere she was interested in, with the lack of access to supplies, and she had no interest in snow and sleet. vida needed a new place, with many different faces and a port so one day she could leave westeros in her past, and there was truthfully only one left. she’d heard the tales, seen the preparations, and with so many crowds it would be easy to both come and go, easy for her to remove herself if needed. and so she turned her gaze to dorne.

↳ personality.

vida is a complicated young woman, she was brought up under the hand of a punishing master with the knowledge that she was a cast off bastard child, and these two things have obviously shaped her. as much as the trauma she endured hardened her, it also did not manage to shut off the goodness inside her. she considers herself very much like the nature she was taught to respect and do her best to understand: she weathers the storms that beat at her but she still manages to withstand and continue to grow.

vida has done her best to keep the hate and anger from her heart, she saw what hate did to the apothecary she slaved under for most of her life. he hated harder than anyone she had ever seen, he had hated her in a way, and it seemed exhausting. spending most of her life in a homemade cage, but though whipped and shouted at she is not quite the abused animal she could have become. for vida it was easier to internalise her anger, channel it into something that would make her feel almost superior. she’d never known a life where she was worth anything to anyone, and she’d not started out life intending to be an apothecary or healing woman, but finding a way to craft the perfect remedy for a problem put before her was something calming to vida’s scarred psyche. she has ultimately become both a product and a victim of her environment, though she prefers to ignore the latter.

↳ the splitting of the kingdoms.

while she had no interest in putting herself in the middle of anything, after hearing of all the fighting and the impending sense of a war vida could no longer sit idly by. the riverlands had turned against the throne, as had the reach, the stormlands and the vale… so they were not safe. vida already knew the sting of a whip of a master, and she would rather flee to the furthest corners of westeros than find herself in that position again should the worst happen. she has never been to dorne before, so it is very much uncharted territory for her and given her limited understanding of the politics of the nobles and ruling class she doesn’t have too much of an opinion. and honestly even if she did, she would keep it to herself.